


Campfires and Carnal Desires

by Spatzi_Schatz



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Found Family, M/M, Mutual Pining, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatzi_Schatz/pseuds/Spatzi_Schatz
Summary: When Shiro joins Camp Marmora as their new athletics director and camp councilor, he expects your typical summer shenanigans: campfires and spooky stories, star gazing, probably a horny teenager or seven. What he doesn't expect is being adopted into the family of misfits that run the camp, including his handsome cabin mate and co-councilor, Keith.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Campfires and Carnal Desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noearchiviste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noearchiviste/gifts).



> Discord Server Secret Santa exchange for Nons! I was inspired by trying to keep myself awake driving home from Thanksgiving by hosting a Disney/Broadway sing-along by myself. I hope you enjoy :)

Camp Marmora is only a forty-five minute drive outside the city, but it takes the Uber driver an extra thirty to find it, hidden down a long forested dirt drive in the middle of service dead zone. They pass a lake with a large floating dock, a pasture where sheep, goats, and half a dozen horses graze, and through another small patch of trees before they come up on a two-story cottage with a large wrap-around porch, tall support beams of hewn tree trunks painted a rich hunter green. When Shiro steps out of the car, all he hears is unfamiliar birdsong and the buzz of summer insects. Shiro waves to the driver, shouldering his duffle and walking toward the cabin.

Before he “retired” from the Garrison, he’d gotten a lot of confused, and worse, sympathetic looks, having only just come back from an excruciating year of medical leave and physical therapy after his accident. Only Iverson hadn’t been surprised by his sudden announcement. He’d studied him in that inscrutable way of his and handed him a pamphlet for Camp Marora for Inner-City Youth. 

“They have an opening for a fitness program coordinator,” Iverson said. “And they’re always looking for councilors.” 

Shiro sent them his resume and Iverson’s recommendation and never looked back.

Now standing in front of the main building, Shiro takes a steadying breath before pushing the door open with his shoulder. The first room he comes into seems to be the main hall, long wooden tables and benches set up in even rows along its length with a massive stone hearth at one end, and a counter window looking into a kitchen at the other. Before he gets too much farther, Shiro hears footsteps on the veranda above him before a man with a bright orange mustache bursts into the room. He’s wearing the stereotypical khaki cargo shorts and brimmer hat. 

“Hello there!” he beams, trotting over. “You must be our new councilor, Takashi Shirogane!” 

“Call me Shiro,” Shiro replies, his movement truncated by the awkwardness of his new prosthetic. 

Without batting an eye, the man takes the stiff polycarbonate, gives it a hearty shake, and bounces on his toes. “Welcome Shiro! I’m Coran, deputy camp director. I help keep things running in tip-top shape, as it were.”

“These are all your things?” he asks, nodding to Shiro’s duffle. 

“Uh, yeah?” Shiro responds. He’s got his basic kit, about a weeks worth of clothes, extra socks and underwear, a small repair kit for his prosthetic, a few well-loved trade paperbacks, and that’s it. Everything else, he’d sold, donated, or let Adam keep. He wonders now if maybe he should have packed a little more generously. But Coran just gives another decisive nod and checks his clipboard. 

“Righto! We have ten cabins plus the main hall here, and twenty-five staff members, including yours truly. Twenty councilors, Antok, head of maintenance, Dr. Ulaz, Tex the Rancher, and Director Kolivan. You’ll meet everyone later at dinner.” 

As he’s talking, Coran has begun to power walk, giving Shiro a tour of the grounds. Shiro nearly has to jog to keep up. The man has a long stride despite his appearance.

“We’ll have anywhere from approximately 150 to 230 campers lodging in the cabins, two councilors per cabin, for programs that range from five days to two weeks long, ages ten to nineteen. Following so far? Great!”

Coran continues to chatter as he gives Shiro a thorough tour of the grounds: the ten cabins—all named after stars—the pool and locker rooms, the trailheads, the high-ropes course, the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor fields where they hold bonfires and larger camp-wide events the main hall can’t accommodate, the small barn that houses a small fleet of 4x4 utility ATVs, piles of tools and mechanical parts, and a truly ancient-looking pick-up, and the library and tech lab for their more indoorsy-inclined campers. Coran also points out the trails that lead to the lake and to the farm Shiro saw on his way in. 

They finish their tour at the main cabin again, where Coran shows Shiro the infirmary, and the camp offices. On the walls are various boards and posters full of photos of past campers and camp activities, as well as art and little notes gifted to councillors over the years. Shiro smiles as he pauses to look over the trinkets, gently tracing the edge of a card with a crayon drawing of the camper petting a horse. Coran looks back and beams. 

“Ah yes, sometimes campers will leave notes and letters, and we post some of them here,” he says. “If I remember correctly, that young sprig had never pet a horse before. He thought goats were made up before he saw one for the first time here! Come on, now! Let me show you the upstairs lounge. Most everyone should be gathering for dinner soon.” 

Shiro follows Coran up a set of stairs behind a door marked “Staff Only” to another open room that mirrors the mess hall downstairs, with the same large hearth at one end and a kitchenette at the other. Though instead of large cafeteria-style tables, there are multiple comfortable arm chairs, couches, and cushions set about in clusters, as well as a few smaller table sets, with one long table that looks like it’s merely two dining tables pushed together, circled by mismatched chairs. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Shiro sees the balcony he noticed from outside, as well as scattered potted plants and cafe tables. Other scattered belongings and knicknacks give the impression the staff spends a lot of their free time here. Warm light spills down from the skylights and large light fixtures made of old railroad ties. 

On the wall above the kitchen, painted with a black-and-white cow print background, large letters read “The Cow Shed.” Before he can ask, Coran is barreling onward. 

“Over there, that door leads to the laundry and the councilor wash room,” Coran points out a door tucked into the corner, closer to the kitchen. “And this is your welcome packet!” 

The binder Coran hands him is thicker than many of his old Garrison textbooks. “Read that at your leisure, but it has all the info you might need! We weren’t sure what kind of classes you would want to host, so for most of the summer you’ll be partnering with other councilors to learn the standard roster of camps we offer, like the high-ropes course and helping out at the farm. If you find there’s something you’d be willing to teach, either as a class or an optional event of sorts, let me know! Now, I have you and Keith bunked in the same cabin so he can show you the ropes, as it were. Keith!” 

Several people who are spread throughout the room have looked up since Coran bounced into the lounge with Shiro, but it’s a young man with long ink-black hair that stands from one of the tables and makes his way over. 

“Keith, this is Shiro, our newest recruit! Introduce him around while I gather our lolly-gaggers for dinner.” 

Shiro barely hears Coran bounce away again, too caught up in the young man in front of him. His hair is tied back in a braid that hangs over his shoulder, loose pieces that have fallen out haphazardly framing his face. He’s nearly of-height with Shiro, but where Shiro is broad from countless hours of gym time and PT, he’s the lean muscle earned through doing, thighs and calves from hiking miles, biceps built by hauling feed out to the farm. Shiro needs to redirect his line of thought from  _ that  _ and tries to look up to meet the other man’s eyes. He promptly loses it all over again to Keith’s eyes, sharp and intelligent and an indescribable shade of deep blue it looks nearly purple.

Shiro’s aware he’s clutching his new binder to his chest like a nervous schoolboy, but he can’t seem to make himself let go of it and relax. Be the cool and collected captain people claim he is. Or was anyway. 

“So you have any questions so far?” Keith asks, breaking the awkward silence in a way that Shiro feels immediate gratitude for. “It can be… a lot for new councilors.” 

The quirk of his lips makes Shiro think that by “it,” Keith means their associate director. He can’t help the way his lip twitches into a smile in return. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure if it’s all fully sunken in yet,” Shiro says. “I’ve been on site for—” he glances at his watch, “only an hour and a half. It’s the fastest orientation I’ve ever been through.” 

Keith lets out a bark of a laugh, and Shiro feels a flush of pride for being the cause of it. Shiro didn’t realize it, but Keith looked so serious before. Laughter is a good look on him, and Shiro wants to make him laugh more. 

“Yeah, Coran is very  _ enthusiastic  _ in what he does,” Keith says. He flicks his braid over his shoulder as he turns back into the room. “But if you think of anything, feel free to ask. Better to ask now instead of getting caught bullshitting in front of the campers. They can smell bullshit like blood in the water.” 

The way he says it sounds fond, as if he didn’t just compare their to-be charges to hungry sharks. Shiro’s not sure if he should be amused or terrified. Possibly both. But he follows Keith to a table anyway. 

“I do have one question,” he says as they sit, nodding to the cow-print mural and quirking an eyebrow. Keith looks up and gives the strange decor a similar fondly exasperated look. 

“Melle painted it the same year we started working here,” Keith says, looking back at Shiro. “When we need a break from our campers, the codeword for it is ‘going to milk the cows.’ Makes it sound like a chore so it doesn’t seem weird to them that we’re gone for stretches at a time. You don’t have to spend your break here, but many of us do so the nickname kinda stuck.” 

Something in Keith’s gaze tells Shiro one bad word about the ritual or the mural will make him a quick enemy, not that he would have said something anyway. His lip quirks in a light smile, looking from the mural back at Keith. “Clever,” he says, and Keith loses the minute bit of tension he’d gained in his shoulders. 

As more people pile in, they all start to gather around the large table when dishes start to make their way from the kitchen, Shiro’s introduced around to the other camp workers. He does his best to connect names to faces to other tidbits of information he picks up about his new coworkers, but he can feel himself hitting some sort of threshold for information intake. 

Dinner itself is a raucous affair, with multiple conversations going on up and down the table, with many people participating in more than one simultaneously. Shiro does his best to keep pace and answer questions thrown at him by curious coworkers. They, purposefully or not, avoid the glaringly obvious question, for which Shiro is grateful. After dinner, they break out the beer and break into smaller groups to relax. Shiro volunteers to help clear the table and carries dishes into the kitchen where he passes them off to Lance and Allura who are washing and setting them out to dry. After he’s done his “fair share,” they shoo him away good-naturedly, telling him to go “relax and hang out for a bit.” 

Shiro returns to the main lounge and smiles a bit when Keith looks up. Keith smiles back and pats the seat next to him on the couch where he’s chatting with Romelle, Axca, Regris, and the Holt siblings. As he settles in, he catches the thread of the conversation and contents himself to listen as they chat about previous years and their plans for the programs they’ll run this summer. As they chat, the older Holt sibling hands him a beer. The younger watches him reach across with his left hand. Shiro tries not to take it personally. 

“You can ask,” he says, flushing a little when the group goes quiet. 

Pidge purses her lips. “It looks really high tech but doesn’t seem like it’s very responsive. Can I take a look inside?” 

Shiro blinks. That was  _ not  _ the question he was expecting. “Uh, sure? It’s pretty new so I guess I’m just not used to it yet.” 

“Excellent!” Pidge scrambles onto the arm of the sofa next to him and pulls Shiro’s arm into her lap, deftly finding and unlocking the access panel and plugging in her datapad. It takes all of five seconds for her to give a derisive snort and a prognosis. 

“Well, no wonder. This is a leaning tower of garbage code. How long have you had it?” 

“Almost four months now.” 

Pidge just shakes her head and mutters about incompetence before bending over her screen again. 

On the other couch, Matt shakes his head a little. “You can shake her off if you want. She won’t be offended.” 

Pidge finds a pencil from somewhere— Shiro thinks she pulls it out of her bird’s nest of hair— and chucks it at her sibling. “Don’t act as if you weren’t drooling over this tech too.” 

“I was going to at least buy him dinner first,” Matt drawls. 

Pidge just snorts. “That’s dumb. Where were you even going to take him out here?” 

Matt just rolls his eyes affectionately at his sibling, and Shiro is warmed by the well-worn banter between them.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” Shiro insists, leaning back to get comfortable with the gremlin now attached to his arm as conversation continues. 

They chat for awhile, people coming and going from their conversation but always Keith, Matt, and Pidge stay, a solid presence that allows Shiro to let his mind wander. It’s when Pidge nearly falls off the arm of the couch from yawning and Shiro has to use his prosthetic to catch her does he come back, jolted by the new speed of his arm. He smiles warmly at Pidge as she blinks owlishly at him from behind her thick lenses. 

“Might be time to turn in,” he says. “But thank you for this. I can feel how it moves better already.” 

Pidge gives him a smug grin. “And that’s just from cleaning up the code. Think what  _ else  _ I could improve. I can make it do so many cool tricks!”

“Like vibrate,” Matt supplies, waggling his eyebrows. 

Shiro laughs as Keith splutters beside him and Pidge scowls at her sibling. 

“Why would he want it to vibrate?” 

“I’ll explain when you’re older, Pidgeon,” Matt says, patting her on the head, which just makes Pidge scowl more and take a swipe at Matt. 

“I know a sexual innuendo when I hear one, Mathew,” she sniffs. “What I’m saying is, if he wants to turn his arm into a sex toy, it’d be more pleasurable if—” 

“OKay—” Keith interrupts. “That’s enough about our  _ new co-worker’s  _ imagined sex life.” 

“Aww, come on, Keith-y,” Matt leers. “He is prime USDA, plus with the boy scout smile? I’m pretty sure even Lance noticed.” 

Keith hustles Shiro up once Pidge is unattached to his arm and shoots Matt a scowl that could curl paint. “Good night, Mathew Holt,” he says pointedly, before ushering Shiro toward the exit. 

“Sorry about them,” Keith says once they’re safely on their way to their cabin. “They mean well, I guess? But if it’s too much, I’ll tell them to knock it off.” 

“My hero,” Shiro teases, inwardly crowing when he gets Keith’s blush to darken and the younger man to shove his hands deeper into his pockets. Shiro’s riding high on the easy camaraderie he’s forged with his new co-workers. He hasn’t felt like this in a long time, comfortable and at ease in his own skin. 

“It’s alright, seriously,” Shiro adds when Keith gives him a skeptical look. “I was in the military. It’s nowhere near the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Keith hums, glancing at him as they walk. “Marines?” 

Shiro snorts. “God no. Air Force.” 

Keith nods knowingly. They’re quiet for a short bit, enjoying their respective thoughts. 

“It was actually kinda nice,” Shiro says softly. “It’s been… awhile, since anyone’s said I was desireable or anything like that.” 

He sees Keith nearly trip over an invisible tree root. “What.” 

Shiro pauses. “What? I’m not exactly anyone’s ideal, especially since… well.” He waves his hand limply at his arm and the scar across his face. 

Keith just stares at him for a long moment. “Matt might be crass, but he is one-thousand percent right about how attractive you are—Though don’t you dare tell him I said he was right about anything or I’ll have to murder you.” 

Shiro chuckles, warmth still prominent across his face. “Noted.” 

They spend the rest of their walk to the cabin in comfortable silence. When they arrive, Keith pulls out a key on a handmade lanyard with beads that spell out the cabin’s name, SIRIUS. Once inside, there’s a mudroom before the cabin proper where they take off their shoes and line them against the wall. Keith takes off his socks as well and walks barefoot into the main room, where there are beds like Shiro remembers from college lined up against the far wall, as well as lines of cubby-shelves for the campers to stow their belongings. Above the cubbies are a line of windows that circle the main room with the exception of the large fireplace. To the left is a small kitchenette as well as a bathroom and what’s probably a broom cupboard. 

Shiro follows Keith to the right and through another door leading to a smaller room that’s meant for them. There’s two more beds, as well as cupboards to store they’re things. Keith has already unpacked on “his” side. His bed is made with dark gray flannel sheets and a fluffy-looking navy comforter. There’s a laptop propped up on the cupboard and a few photos tacked to the wall, mainly of what looks like they’re fellow councilors during previous camps, as well as a few shots of landscapes and one poster-sized printout of a photograph of space. 

“Is that a spiral galaxy?” Shiro asks. 

Keith startles, looking toward the poster. “Yeah… NGC 7773, taken by the Hubble telescope.” 

Shiro smiles. “Yeah? I follow them on Twitter.” 

Keith grins back. “Me too. There’s going to be a meteor shower later this summer. If we have campers, I was already planning on taking them out to see it.” 

“That’ll be really cool. I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Yeah…” Keith’s blush is back and he turns quickly to rummage in one of the cupboards. He emerges with a set of sheets and a quilt. 

“I grabbed these earlier when they told me I’d have a roommate. If you get cold, we can get you more blankets from the main cabin tomorrow.” 

Shiro blinks. He hadn’t even thought about sheets. “Thank you, Keith.” 

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles, looking down at his bare feet. 

Shiro turns to make up the bed as he listens to Keith putz around getting ready for sleep. As Shiro starts to change into clothes more comfortable for sleeping, he looks back over his shoulder at Keith, who’s already settled into the blankets up to his nose. 

“Uh, I usually take off my prosthetic to sleep,” he says. 

Keith sits up a bit, leaning back on his elbows and revealing the loose tank he’s wearing. The cut-out sleeves reveal his trim sides and just a hint of ribs. Shiro draws his eyes back up to Keith’s face when he clears his throat. 

“Uh, yeah? I kinda guessed,” Keith says. “It can’t be comfortable to sleep in.” 

“Right, well I. Yeah.” Shiro turns again quickly to set up the charging station for his arm before climbing into bed. 

Keith clicks off the bedside lamp. “G’night Shiro.” 

“Good night, Keith,” he replies. 

That night, Shiro dreams of nebulae and spiral galaxies and indigo eyes. 


End file.
